


Someone Holds Me Safe and Warm

by talewind



Category: Andromeda Six (Visual Novel)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talewind/pseuds/talewind
Summary: Zovack was dead. The crew did a good job keeping it all at bay, but—fairly—the system was clamoring to know: what now? Mark wished he knew.
Relationships: Sebastian Ilahaj/Traveler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Someone Holds Me Safe and Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the lyrics of "Once Upon a December" from the musical Anastasia, of course. Have to give props to Thorn from the Discord server for inspiring a certain engineering joke.
> 
> Please play Andromeda Six, and enjoy the fic!

Zovack was dead.

Everyone figured that Mark would be happy, or at least satisfied in some way. Even Mark had expected that. But there was...nothing.

Word at this point had naturally spread across the Seleota system over the past few days: A surviving prince of Goldis had miraculously emerged and deposed Zovack and his regime. Some rumors said he’d hired a team of assassins to do the job. Some said he’d rallied the oppressed of Silta Vie to his cause. Some said he’d done the deed himself. Some celebrated, some seethed. Mark, for his part, had long stopped caring what others believed. Just as he did before the coup—at least, just as he was _told_ he did—he stayed in the palace, hidden away from the press, from the crowds. 

The crew did a good job keeping it all at bay, but—fairly—the system was clamoring to know: what now?

Mark wished he knew.

Zovack and his insurrectionists had left the palace a mess. They’d wasted little time availing themselves of its luxuries, and even less time destroying what they deemed “royalist propaganda.” The library had been looted. What few portraits of the royal family remained on the walls hung vandalized and in shreds. 

(In the middle of the first night after Zovack’s death, Aya found Mark in a hallway trying to piece one such portrait back together, weeping hot, bitter tears from the toll of the day’s events, the futility of the task, and his inability to fully recall the painting’s subjects.)

One room that still held some solace was the palace’s ballroom. It had been looted to hell, but was for the most part undamaged. This evening, Mark was sitting on the floor next to a husk of a grand piano, breathing deeply, his head behind his knees. The grand double doors creaked open, and someone whispered, “Mark?”

He didn’t respond, but then immediately felt guilty. “Over here,” he admitted.

There was silence for a moment. Then a set of footsteps, echoing throughout the room, approached. Mark heard the person sit down next to him. “I sent Cal and Vexx away,” Bash said quietly. Then, in a lighter tone, “You know how they are, losing their marbles if you go to just take a shit without telling them.” He paused for several seconds. “...We’re all worrying about you.” His voice was smaller than Mark had ever heard it.

Mark lifted his head, perching his nose on his crossed arms. “...I don’t know how you can help with this,” he said, the words coming as if they’d been dragged out of him. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling, how can I expect any of you to?” And now the words were spilling out as if he’d pulled a plug. “I should be glad he’s dead because he was a terrible person, because he killed my _family_ , and I should feel something, _anything_ for my family, but I don’t! It’s been all this time, and I’m finally _here_ , where I _lived_ , where _they_ lived, and all I’m getting is—” He floundered for words, his hands flexing. “It’s like I _know_ all this stuff, and it’s _right on the tip of my tongue_ and it won’t _come_ and I just get—these half-formed snippets, flashes, these vague, nonspecific feelings, but I can’t explain any of it! I should know this! And I should know what I want next, or what should happen next, but I don’t, and everyone’s expecting answers from me that I don’t have, and...” He took a shaky breath, and buried his head again.

Bash absorbed all of this for a moment. “...That sucks,” he finally said.

Mark scoffed. “No shit.”

After several more seconds, Bash spoke up again. “You said a lot about what you _should_ be feeling,” he said gently. “What are you _actually_ feeling?”

Mark sniffed. “...Lost,” he said, his voice thick. “Confused. Trapped. Angry. Sad. Alone. Scared.”

“Those are all fair things to feel. We _did_ just destroy the whole system’s seat of government. Again. And you’re at ground zero of it all in a lot of ways.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Obviously none of us have ever been in your shoes. But all of us have felt lost, or confused, or angry, or scared.” Bash nudged Mark. “Even me, believe it or not.” Mark’s shoulders popped up with a small huff. “Point is, we make a good crew by admitting when and where we’re not at the top of our game, and relying on each other for support. None of us has it all together all the time. No one _can_. That’s just how people work. You’re not weak or broken because you can’t run on all cylinders all the time. You just gotta count on the battery, and the spark plug, and the, uh...” He scratched his head. “Okay, the metaphor’s getting away from me. But you get what I mean?”

“...Yeah,” Mark said, lifting his head back up.

“Phew,” Bash breathed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. But it would’ve been a pain to try and say that all again another way.” Mark snorted, and Bash beamed. “All that aside, how much sleep have you been getting?”

Mark grimaced and glanced away. “Yeah, that’s about what I’d gathered from everyone else,” Bash said. “You know the first thing any engineer worth their salt does when something isn’t working right?”

Mark raised a wary eyebrow. “...What?”  
  
“Turn it off and turn it back on again.”

Mark groaned. “I’m serious!” Bash laughed. “Your emotions get seriously out of whack if your brain and your body don’t have enough rest. And so does your decision-making ability.” 

“So, what?” Mark sighed, but fondly. “Is your big plan to get me to take a nap now?”

“Well, yeah,” Bash shrugged. “But not just yet.” He stood up and offered a hand to Mark.

Mark looked at the hand. “Do I have to?” he said tiredly, verging on a whine.

“At some point.”

Mark grumbled, but took Bash’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. Bash didn't let go, pulling Mark into a tight hug. It didn’t take long for Mark to melt into the embrace. His shoulders heaved, and Bash rubbed his back while the tears fell.

When his emotions finally settled, Mark scraped his eyes with his hand and reluctantly let go of Bash. “Sorry,” he sniffed.

“For what? Having a rough time?”

He sniffed again. “Fine, then I’m _not_ sorry about getting snot on your shirt.”

“Hey, hey!” Bash cheered. “The jokes are back!”

“No, I’m pretty sure my nose actually did leak onto your shirt.”

Bash’s smile faltered, then he scrunched his face and waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, it’s seen worse.” As soon as Mark glanced away, though, he hurriedly patted his shoulder down and wiped his hand on his pants. “So, uh, before both of us get out of here, there is one more thing I had in mind—and you can totally say no! It’s no big deal!” Mark arched an eyebrow as he continued. “But, y’know, we _are_ in the ballroom, so...” Bash tapped something on his arm, and piano music echoed tinnily from a speaker that he must have had installed in the prosthetic for some unknowable reason. “May I have this dance?” he asked, holding a hand out to Mark once again.

Mark’s mouth fell open into a little _o_. “Uh...” he chuckled nervously. “Sure, why not?” He took Bash’s hand, and the two of them moved onto the dance floor.

For all of the first few seconds, the dance went smoothly enough. Then their feet started jumbling against each other with “Ow!”s and “Sorry!”s until Bash hissed _“Please_ let me lead, okay?”

With an “Oh, sure” of surprise, Mark moved his right hand from Bash’s shoulder to his waist, and felt his ears start to smolder. The pair waited to find the beat of the music again before starting back up, and Mark was taken aback when Bash led him wide across the floor in a perfect lively waltz. “Where did you learn to dance?” he asked, impressed.

Bash extended his right arm, sending Mark twirling outward with a surprised laugh. He tugged, and Mark spun back in. “Honestly? I had Aya bully Cal into teaching me.”

Mark’s peal of laughter rang through the ballroom. “You’re gonna make me cry again!” he wheezed. “Oh, I would pay _so much_ to see that!”

Bash narrowed his eyes appraisingly. “How much you got?”

“How much is in the treasury?”

Bash barked a startled laugh of his own, and their laughter mixed together with the tinny piano recording and bounced all around the hall. As the song wound down, Bash pulled Mark close, and the two swayed together in place.

Zovack was dead.

Everyone figured that Mark would be happy, or at least satisfied in some way. Even Mark had expected that. But while so much of what was to come was still uncertain and frightening...in this moment, alone with Bash, as their lips closed together... 

Mark was the happiest he’d been in a long time.

_-fin-_


End file.
